Addicted
by PhantomWolfMira
Summary: -"I was addicted. And they were oblivious. I wasn't sure which was worse." How close is Harry Potter to breaking? Warning: Hints of drug abuse, self-hate, self-harm...


**_I was thinking of my own life today and suddenly I thought of something; what if? +chuckles darkly+ What if what? you ask. What if Harry Potter, who has been through a lot in his life, had turned to the darker side. No, not Voldemort. What if Harry was in danger from a greater enemy; himself? I think this would be set after fifth year while he was still at the Dursleys', but there's not really a specific timeframe._**

**_I'm fairly sure this is a one-shot but I will keep it off complete just in case you want a sequel. However, there is a very real chance I may be spending the summer away from computers as I am too poor to buy myself a laptop. Ha. Oh well. If you would like a sequel or a second chapter, please leave me a comment and I will write one when I return._**

**_Summary: "I was addicted. And they were oblivious. I wasn't sure which was worse." How close is Harry Potter to breaking? _**

**_Disclaimer: hm, this will be an interesting discaimer... I do not own Harry Potter... but the life that's described I have owned, experienced, and sometimes have trouble keeping away from. I can happily say, however, that my life has straightened out. If you care. If not, it doesn't bother me but I figured I'd tell if you were curious._**

**_Anyway, please comment if you want to. If not I understand. Enjoy._**

**_Warning: Hints of drug abuse, self-hate, self-harm..._**

Addicted

And they were oblivious. That was the best part. Oblivious to the bags beneath my eyes, to the too pale face, to the too big black pupils that would completely block out the green when I was first consumed.

It rushed through my veins like dark fire, gentle like feathers licking at the walls. It relaxed every muscle, slowed every thought. Nothing mattered. I needed no man; sex was nothing compared to this.

And they were oblivious.

The thought made me chuckle, high as I was, and I took a deep drag of the cigarette. It burned dully in my lungs but I didn't cough; not by now. It only added to the lightness of my head and I sat back, my upper body floating onto the roof instead of falling.

Because nothing mattered but this.

I was addicted to it all. The drugs, the self-mutilation, the self-hate and starvation. The pain. I was addicted to the way people looked at me carefully, like I may explode at the slightest touch. I was addicted to the way they spoke of me when they believed I wasn't listening.

It didn't matter anyway. As long as I felt _something_, as long as it wasn't the numbness... then I could survive.

I shivered though the night was warm, pulling my jacket tighter around me. I was always cold. I knew there was something wrong with me, but I didn't care. I needed this feeling. All of it. I needed the addictions.

I took another pull of the cigarette and winced; I was smoking the filter. Cursing quietly I pulled up the sleeve of my jacket and pressed the stub into my arm. There was a hiss and a smell of burning flesh. My breath caught but I made no sound, pulling the jacket roughly back down.

Oblivious. Maybe I was as well.

I stood shakily; the feathers were fading now and I was beginning to feel colder though sweat beaded my forehead. Clutching my arms to my sides, I kept the balls of my feet pressed forward so I wouldn't plunge off the slope. No; not yet.

I stepped close to the edge, peeking down. It was a far drop but it wouldn't kill me even if I wanted it to. However, I rocked tantalizingly on my toes, a grin dancing on my lips, as if taunting fate. Taunting death.

"You can't get me," I sang, barely a breath. Then I chuckled. I was dizzy and exhausted; I never slept anymore. The nightmares...

I shuddered and sat down lightly, sliding my butt off the roof. Twisting before I could fall, I grabbed hold of the sill and pulled myself in though the window. Back into my room. Back into hell.

The sky was stained pink with the approaching sun and I still hadn't slept. It had been three days now and I would break again soon. I was on the verge. My wrists itched with the promise. My veins crawled with their own promise.

I was addicted. And they were oblivious. I wasn't sure which was worse.


End file.
